Unraveling The Nightmare
by BoredGamer
Summary: A gasp escaped his lips as the freezing cold water hit his face, snapping him back into the moment. He held his palms out again, collecting more. His breathing was gradually slowing, muscles loosening as he forced himself to calm down. He was okay, everything was alright. Nothing can hurt him here. [Psychological Horror, Reality Bending and PTSD]
1. Session One: Introduction

Vibrant sunlight shined through the half-shut blinds, illuminating the warm living room like office Dwight found himself inside. Dust particles could be seen in the rays of light, floating wherever it wished. The air felt stiff, in need of an open window. The room was painted various shades of orange, clearly dusk by now. The antique clock in the corner of the room stood as the only source of noise. Dwight found himself tapping his leg to the rhythm. Tick, tock.

Tick, tock.

Tick, tock.

Tick, to-

He moved. The man standing at the far end of the office window. Dwight had his eyes trained on him from the moment he had arrived. He stood with his coffee mug in hand, leisurely sipping at intervals. His back to Dwight as he watched something outside. Every movement, every shift of clothing, every slight twitch of his muscles did not go unnoticed.

The clock struck the hour. No audible indicator followed, yet the man turned towards Dwight fully aware.

"Let's begin, shall we?"

He ambled across the room, relaxing into the chair opposite Dwight. Only a desk separated them, one clear of any clutter besides a handful of documents and a container of writing utensils. The man met his gaze, resting his arms upon the desk as he leaned forward. Dwight shallowed, his dry throat irritating him more than usual.

"Mr. Fairfield, we'll only go over the basics for today. Is that alright?"

"Y-yeah" Dwight croaked, coughing right after as he tried to clear his throat.

"Excellent," The man paused, "How is your life now? After the incident, how has settling back in gone for you?"

Dwight sighed as he lowered his head, "It's been, uh, it's been stressful." He looked up momentarily to observe the other's reaction. The expression showed the man was listening, so Dwight continued.

"The police haven't been able to find anything, no evidence, no signs to prove anything that I or the others had experienced-"

"The others?"

"I-I wasn't the only one, there were others, others like myself, trapped. I, I don't want to talk about them…"

"You know we'll have to eventually"

"N-not, now, please…"

"Of course. Like I said, only the basics. We're focusing on you alone this session, ignore the police and the investigation for now."

Dwight nodded, recollecting his thoughts. Focusing on mental images of his apartment, everything exactly where he had left them before that dreadful night. His tattered couch, his stuffed giraffe laying upon it. Memories of laying across it after being mostly ignored by authorities. The restless night that followed. The footsteps of his neighbours startling him. The boots of the monstrous being behind him as he fled for his life in the deteriorating buildings.

"Mr. Fairfield?"

Dwight snapped back into reality. Looking up to see the same piercing brown eyes of his therapist. A sympathetic look across his features. Dwight licked his lips, looking back down at his hands to find them shaking. He interlocked his fingers, tightening his grip as he tried to get a hold of himself. Taking a few deep breathes he felt his body soften slightly.

"Everything reminds me of it, t-the footsteps, the church bells any sort of screaming hell I'm even scared of my own heart beat," Dwight hastened his speech as he explained, chuckling as he finished. A bitter smile breaking out as he looked around the room, avoiding eye contact. "S-safe to say, settling back is easier said than done…"

The man nodded, jotting something down on the papers in front of him. Dwight resisted the urge to bite his fingernails, a bad habit he picked up from his childhood.

"What about work?"

"Still looking."

More writing followed.

"Family?"

Dwight wanted to laugh. "I, I don't even think they know I went missing."

No writing followed.

"Why do you say that?"

Dwight stayed silent. His chest burned, but he knew no tears would come. He could feel the therapist's eyes burning into him, waiting patiently for a response. His body resisted, feeling his past physically sealed away. An invisible weight acting as a lock. That opening his mouth would, well, he wasn't sure what it would do.

"I…" He swallowed again, his hands paling from the grip he was unknowingly tightening.

Silence.

"We can address this another time if it's too much for you, Mr. Fairfield."

Dwight held a barely noticeable smile, "thank you."

The man nodded, beginning to write again. "How are your friends? Have you contacted anyone?"

"There's no one to contact," It was barely above a whisper, yet the therapist clearly heard it. Pencil scratching against the paper.

"Have you done any socializing since you've returned? Gone to any events?"

Dwight shook his head meekly.

"Have you ever been on medication?"

Dwight shook his head again.

"Should you have been?"

"What?"

Dwight's head shot up, making eye contact with him once again. His mind trying to fully register what he had asked.

"I-I, I don't…" Dwight gulped, throat still dry. "I mean, probably…"

He nodded, going back to his paper.

"What do you use to comfort yourself, when your attacks happen?"

"Music mostly, I don't like the silence."

"Why is that?"

"I imagi- I, every sound could be one of them, coming."

"What kind of music do you listen to?"

Dwight inwardly smiled, relief at not being pushed to remember them for the time being. "It ranges, I try to keep it upbeat or at least, um, something, like not slow and depressing…"

"It's good to keep positivity around you," he paused to write again, "but keep in mind you shouldn't bottle things up. That's something we'll be working on."

"Y-yeah…."

"Has there been any changes in the severity of your symptoms since you're last email?"

"No, thankfully"

"That's good to hear."

He placed the paper down, pencil placed back into the container. The chair feet scratched against the floorboards as the man stood once again. Dwight studied his movements closely.

"Well Mr. Fairfield, it seems our session was much shorter than I anticipated."

Dwight joined the man in standing, glancing between him and the floor. He saw a faint smile of reassurance across the man's face. Dwight tried to mimic it in return.

"If you are comfortable with this arrangement and believe I can help you, contact me at any time to set up another session."

"O-okay-" Dwight followed him to the door, biting his nails.

"Oh, and Mr. Fairfield," The man hesitated at the door turning back to face him. Dwight quickly stopped his nervous tick, feeling semi embarrassed.

"I would suggest trying to go out, you don't have to make any best friends or even fully interact with others. Getting fresh air and being outside will help."

Dwight nodded in response, "I-I'll try to, Mr. Baker."


	2. Session Two: Childhood Trauma

"I remember a… darkness swallowing me, gasping for air."

Dwight stared at his interlocking fingers, listening to the ticking of the clock as he searched his memories.

"…It's fuzzy but someone pulled me to the surface. I-I coughed a lot, obviously… um, I think some nearby teens saw me a-and helped. My parents at the time, I'm not sure where they were. The teens, they got me out of the water and stayed with me until my mother came back."

Mental images of a young boy no more than eight sitting at the beach. A towel wrapped around him as he shivered violently, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Dwight listened as Benedict continued to write. He wasn't sure when he had started shaking but he certainly was now.

"Have you been near water since this incident?

He softly shook his head, "not voluntarily…"

"What else has happened?"

"S-some kids during a, uh, grade eight graduation party- one they personally held…. yeah, um, they pulled me in and h- held me under as a joke."

Dwight's body went completely stiff, muscles tensed as if bracing for something. His chest felt akin to a flame. An encased pain trying to collapse in on itself. They said recovery was painful. They weren't wrong.

"In the entity's realm did you have any experiences with water?"

There was no pause, no unneeded exaggeration of disbelief to Benedict's question. He was being taken seriously, that his experience wasn't just some made up story or delusion. Even if Benedict didn't fully believe him, he was good enough at hiding it that Dwight didn't mind.

With how dismissive the police had been, even if Dwight had the chance to provide more detailed information he was sure he'd be mocked or treated as a "babbling psycho". It wouldn't be the first case of the police showing their corrupted, close minded presumptions. So, he stuck to a more realistic story, one that would at least get them looking. If not to find the killers than to find his missing friends. The only other people that cared.

"T-There were places with water, swamps and such. I never fell in. I, uh, was paying closer attention to my surroundings than usual..." his voice softening, "always on edge."

"Were there any safe locations? A calm area to rest for a moment?"

Dwight paused a moment, finding an aspect of Benedict's tone off-putting. What and why however, he couldn't pinpoint. "uh, yeah… there was a campfire."

Benedict nodded, eyes still locked onto his notes. "Did the bullying change in any way when you entered high school?"

"T-the methods did, the severity? ...Not so much, I just got better at avoiding them."

"What did they do? You don't need to answer in detail where you aren't ready to."

"T-There was the usual stereotypical things, like, um stealing, beating me up, insults and teasing, you know? That k-kinda thing, but, um, …I always seem to attract the worst in humanity." He let out a sigh, looking down at his hands.

The vile scent of death lingered nearby, the laughter of his peers sounding as if they were just behind him. The memories playing in his mind of opening his locker, finding the dead carcass of roadkill amongst his belongings, dashing towards the nearest trashcan.

"S-sick fascinations and pure sadists... not like my parents ever noticed the nights I didn't come home. I- um, well, thankfully the scars have healed enough to be unnoticeable." Dwight pulled himself back into reality enough to respond, scent of death still present albeit faintly.

"Did you ever reached out to the teachers and staff?"

Dwight chuckled lightly, "I think a friend of mine put it simply, no bullying tolerance policies are bullshit. E-excuse my French."

It was light, barely audible but Dwight heard Benedict's laugh. The corners of his mouth turned up, clearly amused by the remark. Dwight began to wonder how a session between Benedict and Meg would go.

"How were your teachers? Did any of them provide other methods of assistance?"

"One did, only one. Sadly, she retired after only a year of high school. I'm not surprised it was the art teacher to be understanding either, years of putting up with students not caring and goofing off instead of working. I, uh, was probably the only one actually listening and doing the work… aside from the quiet kids in the back."

"And the others?"

"Strict, insulting, singling you out… some were emotionally abusive, not holding back in reminding me just how much I'll be a disappointment in life if I didn't work harder. Always pointing out every little flaw, I could probably write an essay on just why I was such a failure. T-There was one that took the cake though... I-I'd rather, uh, n-not go into that."

"Was it…?" Benedict's voice soft, not wishing to trigger any attacks but still wanting to confirm his suspicions.

Dwight nodded, the phantom feeling of hands upon his skin making the hair upon it stand on end. He felt bile at the back of his throat, completely disgusted by the resurfacing recollections.

"M-m-may I go t-take a second?"

"Of course, Mr. Fairfield."

Dwight hurriedly fled from the room, body hunched into himself protectively. The cold air of the bathroom doing nothing to help his already shaking form, he swore his teeth would begin chattering at this rate. As the door closed behind him he approached the sink, rolling his sleeves up. Turning the tap on, he cupped his hands together under the faucet. He watched his palms fill, focusing solely on the water as best as he could.

A gasp escaped his lips as the freezing cold water hit his face, snapping him back into the moment. He held his palms out again, collecting more. His breathing was gradually slowing, muscles loosening as he forced himself to calm down.

He was okay, everything was alright.

Nothing can hurt him here.

A sudden slam broke the soundless scene. Startled, Dwight jumped. The water within his hands thrown into the mirror and area surrounding it. Twisting around at breakneck speed, taking in every aspect of his environment within seconds. His breath caught in his throat as he scanned for any threats.

Everything was in place, the practically empty bathroom exactly as it was when he had entered. His chest pounding as if trying to escape the confines of his body. At this point the pain it brought was normal to him, a regular aspect of the entity's realm. His fingers curled in his sweating palms. His breathing ragged as he concluded there was no threat. It must have been the office upstairs or…. something else, something natural and perfectly normal in nature.

He straightened his legs, not realizing he had gone into a crouch by habit. Nails coming up to be bitten, he didn't care how bad it was at that moment. He took one last glance around the room before turning back to the sink, the crimson water continuing to run.

Dwight blinked.

The liquid rushing out of the faucet no longer water. Dwight's body frozen in place as he watched. Mouth agape at the sight. His stomach knotted and tensed. There was a knock at the door. Dwight kept his eyes trained on the running blood.

"Mr. Fairfield, are you alright?"

"U-uh, y-yeah" it was a barely conscious effort to speak, primarily out of social reflex. Hesitantly turning to the door as he spoke, switching directions for a few moments before finally facing it head on.

He gulped, staring at the door as he waited for Benedict's voice again. Debating if he should ask for assistance. Thinking against the thought he looked back to the sink, finding the water to be clear again. He was not okay.

He realized his face was still wet. Air dried slightly as droplets of water were no longer falling from his face. He grabbed a handful of paper towels, rubbing his face hastily. He wished to leave before another hallucination happened. He didn't take a single look towards the rest of the room as he threw the papers out, opening the door to leave.

He rolled his sleeves back down to their proper lengths, looking both ways down the hall. Benedict stood to his left, leaning against the wall watching him. A bulb must be burning out as the flicking light behind the man existed as a mild distraction. His eyes hinted concern despite his leisurely stance.

"M-mr. Baker?" Dwight croaked out, needing to clear his throat again.

He grunted as he pushed himself off the wall, running a hand through his brunette hair. "Just making sure you're alright," he began walking back to the office, patting Dwight's shoulder as he past, "wouldn't be the first time a client vomited or passed out."

Dwight whispered out an acknowledgement, pondering on his words. He followed behind Benedict like a lost puppy, thankful his hallucination hadn't resulted in either of those aforementioned things. He let out a silent sigh, feeling a sense of comfort. Benedict's presence eased his anxiety, the knots within his stomach loosening if only barely. It was becoming clear that his new adversary was isolation, the very thing stalking him since birth.


	3. Disquieting Twilight

MIA, that was all Dwight knew of the others. No signs of life, no bodies discovered. The police had closed the investigation again and after two attempts he was sure they wouldn't be trying again anytime soon. He was truly alone again. Well, he had Benedict, but that was strictly professional. He was sure he wasn't going to become his therapist's new best friend.

"Why?"

He knew the darkness wouldn't answer him, that no supernatural being was going to give him all the answers to his questions. He had believed there was a God, now he was unsure what kind of beings existed in this world. Maybe researching would do him some good, answer even one of his many questions that kept him up.

It was either that or binge watch Netflix until dawn. Of course, he'd get some sleep, the inevitable crashes coming to drag him into nightmare drenched unconsciousness. Some nights were worse than others. Some he could stomach the dread and shallow the sleeping pills, others he just couldn't do it. Maybe Benedict could prescribe some of those pills that suppress dreams. He'd heard about them but was afraid to ask, fear he'd be wrong and embarrass himself. At this point he didn't care, having too many sleepless or terror filled nights to care about embarrassment.

Tomorrow he had another appointment, scheduled for the usual time. After yesterday's interview, it was the only thing he was looking forward to. He was sure he'd failed miserably. No phone calls were going to come his way. He was thankful he had saved so much money before the abduction. Living in a cheap run down apartment on the sketchy side of town had its advantages. Mainly the cheap part. Not like he would have spent his money on night outs or anything, nothing to use it for besides rent, food, etc.

Dwight let out a prolonged sigh as he sat, staring at the Netflix title screen. All the titles he browsed past bland and unappealing to him, nothing perked his interest. He turned it off, concluding it was a waste of time. Maybe he would try to sleep again tonight, if he was lucky he wouldn't dream.

Following the usual nightly routine, he flicked his bedroom light switch off, plunging the room into pure darkness. The black out curtains doing their job to remove any possible city light that wanted to creep it's way inside. After escaping the horrors of the entity one might try to keep a light nearby, fearing what may lay in wait within the dark. Dwight was no stranger to the dread of night. Having slept with a nightlight well into middle school. Now however the dark served as a comfort, one of his saving graces against the killers. If they couldn't find him, he was safe.

He pulled his comforter over him, cuddling his pillow close. His breathing the only noise beside that of his neighbours. The footsteps and floorboards creaking, something he had adjusted to at this point. a sign of life he appreciates. Something to remind him he was back within society. Though he could do without the intimacy, the walls too thin to block his neighbour's nightly activities.

He reached over to his nightstand, fumbling about the objects and papers scattered across it. Various things getting knocked over as he failed to find what he was looking for. He grunted as he was forced to sit up, propping himself up on his elbow to ease his search. His fingers brushed the tangled cords, curling around them as they had been what he was searching for. He pulled them and grasped the phone they were connected to. He laid back into the mattress, apathetic to the scattered mess that was now his floor.

The moans dimmed as he inserted the earbuds, after fighting to untangle them first. He squinted at the bright light blinding him when he turned it on. Scrolling through his music for something fitting his mood. It played at a high enough volume to drown out external noises and thoughts. His eye lids grew heavy, sleep deprivation beginning to take its toll.

He knew it would take awhile to slip into sleep but, eventuality he drifted off within his small sanctuary. The curtain moving only slightly as a breeze floated by. Without a source of light, no shadow could exist. The blind eye unable to see that which lingered in the dead of night. The neglected corner of the room darker by single a shade.

* * *

AN: This chapter is a bit shorter but it seems the next one is making up for it at the rate it's going- I haven't been really writing author notes so far cause I'm not quite sure what to say about this besides the fact I'm really enjoying how this is turning out and I'm really excited to write what I have in store! I have also been busy so no real time to sit and think about what I would write here if at all so you know. I thank a good friend of mine for giving me the therapist!Benedict idea (though I'm taking it in a completely different direction than she did haha).

I also am really thankful towards a certain reviewer, who knows exactly who they are I would think, because they make my day every time!


	4. Session Three: Venturing From The Flame

Winter was coming. If the air growing colder wasn't already enough of an indicator than the fact the days were growing shorter certainly was. Dwight used to love this time of year with it's blankets, hot chocolate, and colourful leaves. Now he only wished for time to stop flying by so fast, he could use more sunlight, not less.

The meeting had begun at it's usual evening time, but instead of a warm sunset hue it had shifted into a cooler blue. Not yet night as the sun continued to peer above the horizon. Dwight watched Benedict as he opened a desk drawer, it's contents hidden from view as he rummaged within it.

A single paper was pulled out, slid over to him to view. A picture of an old camp ground, a lit fire pit at dawn with no one around it. The only thing nearby were some logs circled around it followed by the woods in the background. Despite the obvious similarities between it and the one from his past, this was not the campfire he had been to by any means. Papers and objects were scattered about, a worn lawn chair nearby the logs.

He removed his eyes from the photocopied picture, moving them to Benedict's own with a questioning glint.

"You had mentioned a campfire last session; can you give me details? Is it similar in anyway to the photograph?"

"Well…" Dwight looked back to the paper, "Kinda… the logs and setting around it are, but… that's about it."

"What would be the differences?"

"Well, it's too…. Human, if, uh, that makes any sense…"

"Elaborate?"

"Well, um…. it's just, this has signs of living, you know? The campfire I had been to, it…it was clean in a sense. The only things that were there were things that needed to be there. It had a sense of… emptiness… to it, like the lack of… any form of day or presence it just, existed, in a void."

Dwight paused as he stared at the picture, taking in all the details. As he spoke it was if he saw the entity's fire within the photograph, like a faint overlay had been placed upon it. The crackling faintly heard as the flames danced, the etching of Benedict's pencil into paper in rhythm with it's song. No wind, no rustling leaves nor sound from any outside source.

A voice pulled him from the scene. he tore his gaze away to glance up at Benedict whom of which was sitting patiently. His body language indicating he was expecting an answer to an unheard question. Dwight shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he inspected the now incredibly interesting floorboards.

"Are you alright, Mr. Fairfield?" His voice devoid of any annoyance, only holding concern.

"Y-yeah" he struggled to get the words out, his voice cracking as it refused to speak.

"Did you hear my question?"

Dwight could no longer find his voice. He closed his mouth in defeat as he shook his head. His eye still fixated on the floor and intricate rug. He was no longer noting the patterns and textures but rather focusing on a single spot. As if concentrating on it hard enough would make the grip within his chest fade. The sensation of fingers curling around his heart, tightening it's hold to crush him gradually.

"Were you alone at the fire pit?"

"Uh, sometimes…" he stuttered, attempting to distract himself. He placed the photo back on the desk, still avoiding eye contact.

"Who or what else had been there?"

The lump had come back, tears threatening to spill for the first time in, well, Dwight wasn't sure how long it had been since he last shed them. His hands came up to his forehead, laying against them as he prompted his elbows up on his knees now hunched over. He fought to keep them in as voices and images replayed themselves, the sharp sting as he felt the pain of loss resurfacing. The police report and final verdict, the overwhelming realization he had lost the only people he could call family.

His body shook, tears finally falling. He bit his lip, trying to keep silent despite how obvious his crying was. The chair moved, Benedict removing himself from it. Dwight didn't look up, only listening to his footsteps as he walked away. He was gone for only for a moment, opening something he couldn't see briefly before closing it again. The footsteps came closer, moving to stand nearby. Warmth touched his shoulder, a soothing air emitting from Benedict as he simply rested his hand. It was a small gesture, something incredibly ordinary that one wouldn't look twice at, except for Dwight. Recalling only feeling such comfort in the Entity's realm from the others he had left behind.

"It's healthy to let it out, you'll feel much better afterwards," he spoke gently, and with that whatever had been holding Dwight back snapped.

"They're gone! I left them! They're continuing to suffering well I'm here. I'm horrible, awful, a disgusting human being just like everyone said! I don't even know how I'm here but it's my fault, it's always my fault! They deserve so much more! They're the only ones who cared and now they're gone! MIA, disappeared, missing forever in that hell! I don't have anything to live for, they do, they didn't deserve to stay trapped, I did! I did…" Dwight's wailing faded, barely above a whisper as he repeated the last of his words.

Tears stained his cheeks as snot continued to run, no matter how much he tried to wipe them away they just kept coming. Salt was all he could taste, a bitter reminder that he did not look decent in anyway now. he held the glasses he had removed during the break down in his hand as the other continued to wipe everything away. Either way his vision would be too blurred to see anything, aside from white coming into view.

It took him a second to realize Benedict had been holding out a tissue. He reached out and took it with a soft nod to display gratitude, his movements slowed and hesitant. Silence fell over the room as he cleaned his face, tears dried up as he felt a calm filling the space that once held an overwhelming pressure. The air laid still, like a storm had passed and now the pieces lay scattered to be slowly gathered and repaired.

His chest moving as he took a deep breath, letting it out at a steady pace. A water bottle come into view, he looked to Benedict with a sorrowful smile, genuine thankfulness laced his featured as he took the offering. His allaying presence faded as he left his side, relaxing back into his usual seat as Dwight sipped the water. The clock continued to tick as Benedict patiently waited for him. Tick, tock.

Tick, tock.

Tick, tock.

Tick, tock.

"There were four others."

A quarter was gone from the bottle by the time Dwight spoke again. His eyes downcast as he did so, voice broken and barely above a whisper.

"Meg, Jake, Claudette, and Nea… I, I miss them… dearly, they…" he gulped, pushing back the feelings wishing to bubble back up. "They were always there f-for me, they never left me unless they n-needed to… i-instead I was the one… to leave them."

"Did you have a choice in the matter?"

"I-" he froze, fingers paling from the grip he held on his arms. His body stiff as he contemplated. "No…"

He leaned across the desk as he spoke, "Than why would they blame you?"

"Because…" He trailed off, knowing he was being illogical with the amount of guilt he had been taking on. If only the logical voice hadn't been drowned out so easily. If only he could shut off his emotions. Not let his anxiety, depression, and everything else he harboured take control from him. If only it were that easy.

He didn't want to speak, drawing his attention away from the situation entirely. He noticed the photo at the edge of the desk, located where he had left it. He reached out and grabbed it, drawn towards it, studying the scene wordlessly.

"How did you feel about the location?" Benedict's voice broke the stillness, following his unspoken attempt to shift topics after minutes of silence had past.

"It's... calming...the only place to breath, like home...The others had, mixed opinions... Nea felt the opposite, she hated it the most. Said it was a constant reminder of our situation." Dwight didn't move, face buried in the photo.

Something was off.

Everything looked the same, the scattered traces of humanity the same. The patterns in the logs, the colours, the trees, everything looked like it had before. Than why did it feel so wrong? The edges of the paper flapped in the wind, threatening to steal it from his hands. The air chilled making goosebumps form across his skin. The familiar sounds of the fire greeting him like an old friend. The warmth it emitted cradling him to fight the breeze.

The flames light danced on the photo, looking up he saw it a couple feet from him. His heart stopped. He refused to look around, not wanting to face the reality around him. His hand felt the bark of the log he sat upon, his nails digging into it as he clutched it. His breath caught in his throat as he felt sweat dripping from his forehead. The pounding of his heart had resumed, beating harder than previous.

"Dwight?"

A warmth took his hand in theirs, the familiar petite form giving him courage. He looked to his left, seeing eyes he recognized immediately. The gentle presence reassuring him similar to what he assumed a mother would be like.

"Are you spacing out again?" Claudette's quiet voice filled his ears as clear as day.

"Come back to shitfield, space cadet." Nea's voice came from his lower right, probably seated in the grassy spot between the two logs.

A more masculine hand laid on his back, the smell of the forest growing stronger. Dwight kept silent, hesitant to move or interact with anything.

"You okay there?" Jake spoke, rubbing his hand in a comforting motion.

Dwight turned, to face him. His eyes softening as he saw the fear and confusion across Dwight's facial features. He didn't want to worry them. He didn't want them to suffer even a fraction more than they already endured. He couldn't bare to keep eye contact, moving instead to find the only other person who hasn't said a word.

There on the other log, sitting alone with her legs outstretched was Meg. Her attention elsewhere as she looked up from the swaying fire, staring at the woods directly ahead of her position. Dwight followed her line of sight, squinting as he tried to make out whatever it might be in the dark. Nothing stood out of place, maybe she was just daydreaming?

The warmth disappeared as he looked back to her, or where she had been. The log laid by itself with no one around it. The sight brought about a maddening silence, like Dwight had been sucked into a vacuum devoid of sound. No breeze drifted through, the fire lacking its heat. One quick study of the area and the realization dawned on him, he was alone.

He couldn't find a single trace of his companions left, no movement in any direction around him, no footsteps or shifting of grass. A black shape in his peripheral caught his attention during his panicked search. In the spot Meg had been there sat a faint shadow of a person, it's body shifting opacity and shape continuously. Dwight's mouth went dry as it lay agape, watching it turn towards him, non-existent eyes bore into him, unmoving for what felt like hours.

Dwight's impulses screamed at him to run, run far away but his body protested, paralyzed completely as he watched the creature move. It's smoky limbs trying to mimic human movement, joints distorting in unnatural ways. It stood in a sluggish manner, seeming to take as much time as it wanted. The anticipation grew as he was forced to endure patiently, taking in the scene to it's fullest against his will.

It stayed hunched over, still as it could be with it's unstable form. Every fibre of his being screamed at him as it lifted its foot, expecting it to lumber towards him at an agonizingly slow pace. He felt little peace as it decided on another route, head now set towards where Meg had been staring. As the creature walked his vision blurred, feeling pings of pain at intervals. The creature appeared to teleport, it's pace staying the same as it blinked across the area.

As it disappeared into the darkness within the trees the vapours stemming from its body danced off it, continuing to be visible. He curled his fingers into fists, realizing a moment later that he had regained control of his body. His legs wobbled as he stood, visibly shaking as he tried to venture forward. Following the creature's direction, the grass mute as it made way. The shadow of the trees welcomed him, whispers cutting the soundless air. He couldn't make out the words nor identify the language being spoken.

He saw the it again, standing what he assumed to be away from him. His mind void of thoughts as his body acted on its own, reaching out to touch it. His fingers brushed against the swaying, living shadow. Placing his hand against it's shoulder, it felt cold and hard against his skin making him shiver. The whispers surrounding him grew louder, several voices speaking at once. Nothing they spoke could be understood, too many unknown tongues at once. All unclear aside from a single distant source, growing louder in the back of his mind.

"Mr. Fairfield?"

The shadow was gone, replaced by the city skyline. The cold surface against his hand now glass. He blinked. The steady ticking of the old clock acting as a reminder of where he stood. He turned to his side, greeted by Benedict's studying eyes. His presence as peaceful as usual.

"Did you see them?"

Dwight looked back to the window, nodding.

"Did they say anything?"

"T-they," Dwight coughed, his dry throat impeding his ability to speak. Benedict handed him his water bottle, already at the ready to help him.

It had become lukewarm, noting the temperature than the state of his environment. The sun was completely gone, only the starless night sky hovering above. The room was lit by lamps, warm colours surrounding him like a visual blanket.

"They, uh…. they- were concerned… about me, cared if, I was okay…" he laughed lightly, eyeing the sidewalk at the bottom of the building though his mind was recalling the warmth he had held only moments ago. His smile faltered as the other memories invaded.

"Everything alright?"

"Y-yeah, just missing them is all…" he tried to smile again, nervously looking around the room to avoid eye contact. He was never good at being deceitful. Benedict seemed to search his expression, making him nervous he'd be declared a liar.

"Remember this is a therapy office, I'm here to help you." He made his way back to his seat, giving only a sympathetic look. Dwight paused before following him, looking back down, noticing the crumpled paper still clutched in his hand, now back to it's original photograph.

"H-how long was I, um-" He tore his gaze away as he spoke.

"About half an hour" He glanced at the watch on his wrist as he settled into the chair.

"Oh, wait, w-what about your other clients? I'm not, holding anything up, am I?" he stopped himself as he reached the couch, adjusting his glasses with a shaky hand.

"You're my only client today, no need to worry." That reassuring smile was back, letting him relax himself. He sunk into the couch, placing the paper on the desk again with faint embarrassment at it's state.

"Are your hallucinations this long regularly?"

"N-not usually, no…"

"Do you think this might be something else?"

Dwight didn't respond. Both men held still, his fingers interlocked in his lap, hunched over as he kept eye contact.

Tick, tock

Tick, tock

"No."

* * *

A/N: I was gonna wait till I had more of the next chapter written before posting this but since I now have to wait till Monday for my 3D modeling to get done I figured why not? I've had majority of the chapters up till now finished before I had begun posting them so the updates from now on will probably have longer times in between but maybe not depending on how much free time I have and how my muses wanna act.


	5. Night Terrors

Dwight clutched his pillow tighter, face buried within it as thoughts ran rampant. He sat on his couch, all electronics unplugged with only dusk sunlight to illuminate his living room. His toes curled as he tensed, limps close together as he left out a muffled groan.

Why did he have to forget?

He didn't dare sleep a wink last night, avoiding any possible nightmares that may surface from yesterday's events. That uncomfortable knot laying in his stomach, his gut pressuring him not to speak of the living darkness that lead him from the sanctuary. The worryingly sense of just how real it had all seemed.

Why didn't he tell him?

His tongue stubborn to stay silent on the matter, Benedict didn't believe his obvious lie. How long till the subject resurfaced? He pondered Benedict's character, relaxing his muscles as he recalled the atmosphere of the office. When, if, he would ask again than he believed he'd be mentally stable enough at that time.

"Does the pillow help?" Benedict's smooth voice faint in the air.

"Yeah…" Dwight didn't look up, surrounded in the comfort of that room before it dawned on him. His head shot up, looking around his environment to find he was, indeed, alone.

Maybe he should sleep.

He set the pillow on the couch, laying his head down upon it. If he just took a small nap here instead of his bed maybe he could avoid them, or at the very least wake up from them easier. He felt his eye droop, not resisting the welcomed rest. His breathing steadying, chest slowing as sleep overtook him.

The smell of the woods welcomed him, wind ruffling his clothing as he stood circled by towering trees. He could hear the distant crackling of the campfire but was unable to pinpoint its location. Faint whispers surrounded him, calling to him in their familiar unknown language. His legs moved against his will, traveling further into the darkness between the trees.

The sound of weeping flowed to his ear, growing louder as the campfire's crackling dimmed. His chest tightened, swearing he could recognize their voice. A root sticking from the ground blocked his path, causing him to stumble. His hand scratching against the rough bark as he tried to steady himself. The crying ceased, plunging him into silence as the whispers left with it.

He gulped, proceeding in the same direction hesitantly. A barely notable clearing greeted him, a figure curled into themselves crouched in the centre. His eyes widened as he recognized the pink shirt the figure donned. She rose, moving to stand with her body still hunched. Her arms dangling at her sides, her back still facing Dwight.

"Meg…are you-" he paused, rethinking his words, "Meg, what's wrong? I'm here for you"

He crept forward, approaching her with a comforting demeanour. He steadily rose his hand, moving it to place on her shoulder gently. He felt the fabric of her shirt for a split second before she twisted around. Her face covered in tears, appearance completely dishevelled. Her brows furrowed as she made eye contact. Expression shifting from one of grief to utter fury.

"Here for me? Dwight, you left us! You were never here for me! Do you know how much our group has suffered since you left? How our plans and strategies have gone to shit? Was your past just some sob story? Were you just using us to get out? So that you could survive? You selfish prick, you never cared about any of us!" Meg screamed, her fists tight enough to pale her fingers.

"No, I- I didn't want to leave!" Dwight shakily cried out, taken aback by his friends unexpected actions.

"Really? You don't sound to sure about that." Meg's eye bore into him, face twitching.

"I'm telling the truth! I already… I already hate myself for not being able to bring you all…I-I-I don't even know how I got out…I just, did" Dwight's voice trailed off, growing soft and quiet.

"You just did?" She spat back like her words were a knife verbally cutting his skin.

"It's not my doing! I didn't-"

"But you're completely fine with not trying to get us back, huh? Not helping search-"

"I'm sorry I'm not trying…after they reported you all MIA-"

"Should you really be trusting them? They don't give a flying fuck about us! You should be doing it yourself!"

"I'm sorry…"

"You should be."

"I promise I'll start looking, I'll research and try to find a way!"

"Save it, I know you won't." She turned her back on him, voice turning a hint of somber. Her body language defeated as she left him.

"Meg please…." Dwight reached forward, needing her to understand, needing her to stay by him.

He felt polished wood, his hand rubbing against his coffee table. He paused a moment, allowing his mind to process the change in scenery. He heard the movements of his neighbours, the sounds of the traffic outside.

The room a deep blue tinted purple with hints of warm streetlamps shining through the uncovered windows. It's distance hampering the amount of illumination they could provide but enough for Dwight to register his surroundings. The familiar dull colour of his walls, the view of his table and TV from his couch partially blocked by the pillow in his hold.

He pulled his arm back to the couch, letting out a hefty sigh as he turned onto his back. The pillow now resting on his chest. His mind blank as he watched the lights of distant cars walk across his ceiling. One look at him and one may assume a dead body, the distant vacancy of his eyes as he lay limp and unmoving.

A single lamp lit the office, familiar ticking the only sound within it besides that of occasional coffee sips. Benedict stood at the edge of his window, over looking the city lights and near deserted streets. His face reflected in the glass, the expression of deep thought across it.

Upon his desk were paper laid about, client notes across each page. Dwight's latest located on the very top of the seemingly disorganized pile. A small list between paragraphs, names spelled out. One such name danced with shadow like vapours, small enough to remain unnoticed to the untrained eye.

 ** _Meg Thomas_**


	6. Null Wisdom

Nothing was here. Well, nothing might have been an exaggeration in the mist of his annoyance. His research providing him with more information on various mythologies from around the world than he ever thought he'd need in his lifetime. Now came the hard part, piecing what he had learned together into what resembled a reasonable theory.

Thankfully the library seemed void of life, only holding a handful of introverted souls keeping to themselves. With the exhaustion covering his face Dwight was sure he blended in with them, not that it held much of a concern to him anymore. The papers scattered about with opened books in a mildly organized manner in front of him. Images of old rituals and depictions of ancient deities littered the pages, various types and names accompanying them. His own papers filled to the brim with notes, connecting the information to memories of the Entity, how the realm worked to his understanding.

He was following the trail to the 'what' of the matter, having a good lead as to the overall of the being that entrapped him. Now the other lovely question words were another story altogether. Even if he did manage to figure out exactly what kind of being the Entity was, would there even be a way to defeat it? Maybe not even defeat it but to just… He let his thoughts trail off, Meg's prior words cutting into his chest.

He pushed the chair from the table, stretching his stiff muscles as he stood. He needed a break, remind himself it had been a nightmare. Meg didn't think that way.

He ambled to the nearby bookshelf, scanning for any other material that could be of use. He halfheartedly scanned the titles, thoughts dancing as he continued to string together information. The idea of a break already dismissed as he obsessed over the possibilities.

If the hooks were a sort of altar, a place of worship and sacrifice… his hand moved to his shoulder, phantom pain of a hook penetrating making him tense. If they were such a thing as twisted seeming as it was, they had been used as sacrifices to a God. A shiver travelled down his spine as he processed the idea.

So, it could manifest at places of it's worship, but it was aware of the rest of it's realm. The sensation of being watched ever clear in his memories, Dwight took a quick glance to study his surroundings, paranoia creeping its way in. Focus, now what else can it do? It could affect the weather, different offerings creating a contrast in many elements of the world around them. It seemed to like flora of all things, many of his offerings having involved flowers. He recalled Claudette describing it's form as a "living thorn bush" of sorts.

But this was not some lone fertility God by any means, not a low ranking one either. The act of offerings alone, the blessings they brought… Dwight found himself back at his seat, shuffling into his chair as he skimmed his notes. Red pen in hand as he circled the notes he had processed, noting fertility and blessings to it's list of dominions. The offerings and blessing… If the killers had been human at a point, those like the Wraith had to be given their power from the Entity.

Dwight dragged one of his books closer, flipping through the pages for something. He adjusted the glasses seated upon his face as he reread the chapter, delving into the order of power for various gods and their structure of authority. If it granted powers outside of fertility, either another God granted it the power to do so... or it had dominion over more than fertility. Something within Dwight told him the Entity was not under another's command, that it needed not to report to others and did it's twisted game from it's own freewill.

But why?

Then there was the other big factor, the power over life, death, and the world in which they had been caged. It always shifted and changed, he was sure it could never be a real physical place, it had to be some kind of other dimension or purgatory, more like hell really. Constant torment and terror every time they awoke. He shook his head, pushing back memories as he refocused his mind. It would explain why the cops were so useless in helping, their lack of competence aside.

He pulled his notes closer again, adjusting the placement with his books to write and read effectively. So the Entity was a deity of the underworld with influence over fertility. He reread the words across the page before sighing, feeling as though he were missing pieces of the puzzle. He wished he knew how the Entity treated its killers, how they functioned. He only knew one section of this tangled web, hindering his research.

"Sorry, Meg..." He whispered, barely a sound despite the pin drop silence of the building.

Leaning back into his chair he let his head fall backwards, uncomfortable strain against his neck as the chair dug into him. He payed the pain no mind, letting his mind wonder instead. His eyes felt heavy, the mental lack of energy affecting his physical amount. A God of the underworld, huh? Well that's not something you could just throw a bible at and be done with, now is it? If only it were as simple as that, no, he had to help those he cared about trapped in such a being's plane of existence. Something as strong as that...

If it were such a being and it acquired enough power, what else could it do?

He balled his clammy hands into fists, body tense as he suddenly felt the safety he had been building unravelling at the thought. No, he couldn't let that undo everything he's work for, he had to stay strong, for them. Maybe he just... needed an actual break, go home, have a bath, let his mind calm and come back to it another day.

As he solidified the plan in his head he leaned forward, closing all the books and gathering his papers into a binder neatly. Heaving the pile upwards he travelled with careful steps towards the shelf he had acquired them from, adjusting his hold as he removed them from the pile to place back. The task growing easier overtime till he had only his binder. The object tucked underneath his arm as he approached the staircase.

Looking over the recently renovated building, a perfect view of the first floor presented itself to him. The glass walls allowing everything to be illuminated by sunshine alone. The well kept modern architecture a clear sign he was in a much richer area of the city than his apartment was located. He took one step, holding loosely to the cold metal of the railing. The step sounding as if it were wood as it groaned underneath him, he looked down to see the concrete material underneath him. He furrowed his brows, trying to deduce what he had heard.

Looking up his vision blurred, the environment shifting as he heard creaking metal around him. One second the library, another the blue tinted woods of the Trapper's home. He clutched his head, the splitting pain almost forcing him unconscious. The wind ruffling his loose clothing, forming goosebumps along his exposed arms. The pain dulled, subduing to a light pressure knocking against the walls of his cranium.

He studied his new environment, finding himself on the middle platform of the stairwell on the outer walls of the iron works. The decaying building groaned, taking it's dying breaths. Unpleasant memories flooded back to him as he recalled his pursuer itches from him many a times on those very stairs. He shivered, but not from the lack of heat.

The stairs creaked as he descended them, sounding like the expected metal rather than the wood prior. Great, now he couldn't even hallucinate the proper sound effects. He continued to loosely hold the railing, examining what he could of the area in the darkness. Nothing caught his eye, everything still despite the wind's persistence.

Dirt crunched under his weight as he stepped off the final stair, gazing across the woods as he stood. Breath steady as he let himself pause, hand slipping off the railing to his side. A moan snapped him from his idle observations, his head gradually turning towards the building. His eyes gliding over the rusted machinery inside.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, entering the eerie building. His footsteps echoed against the cold metallic walls, the uninviting presence it held setting him on edge, as if the world itself rejected his presence. The walls towering over as if trying to become a void, devoid of warmth. The iron scent of blood made its way towards him, floating up from the staircase nearby as another moan accompanied it.

Dwight approached the door frame, fists balled as he forced back the dread boiling within his stomach. The wooden stairs groaned under his weight, the distant machinery replaced by an entrapping claustrophobia as the wooden planks desired to shallow him, keep him locked within the Entity's realm permanently. The overwhelming miasma of decaying blood grew stronger the further he climbed down. Each step drawing closer to the source, each step tightening his chest.

As he rounded the corner the familiar sight of the gruesome hooks were no where to be found. In their place was his apartment lobby, the entry way requiring a key or phone call. He twisted around finding only the entrance way behind him, no remnants of the Entity.

"Careful boy,"

Dwight looked back to discover an elderly woman opening the door, key in hand. Her brows knitted with a stern expression as she held it open.

"You don't wanna doze off here." She turned from him, moving sluggishly into the building.

"Yeah, thank you." Dwight stammered as he bowed his head hurriedly, moving to hold the door as the woman continued to walk. She made a grunt of acknowledgement as she shuffled past, moving towards the elevator. He sighed, slouching his shoulders as he followed behind. Normally he'd take the stairs, get the exercise in, but the flashes of his hallucination tainted the idea.

"What floor?"

"Uh, five please…"

The door strained to shut, in obvious disrepair from lack of attention. Everything within the building warn by time, left to be forgotten until made unlivable. The sickly yellow light was dim, the mirror to his left reflecting his fiddling. The elevator rocked as it stopped, the third-floor light flickering on. The old woman excused herself, pushing past him as he pulled his body into himself, trying his best to give her more room in the cramped space.

The silence became notable as the door closed and the lift returned to it's ascent. Dwight flattened his shirt out of habit, remembering after a moment that he was no longer wearing his tie. He gripped his arms as a chill ran down his spin, realizing the temperature around him. Goosebumps returned as he shivered with the sudden drop. Summer sounded like a nice concept right about now.

He fled the frigid area as soon as the doors opened again, near-running towards his apartment. Anxiety crawled around him, wrapping him in the sense that something was wrong. If he didn't leave he was going to suffer. He dug his keys from his pocket, hands shaking as he tried to grasp the right one. With a clang, they fell to the floor. The cold nipped at his hands as he retrieved them with a mental string of curses towards the cliché of it all.

He slammed the door shut after managing to open it, pressing his back against the thin wood as he locked it again. His apartment held a warmer air, relieving his paranoia. He needed that break still. He continued to lay against the door, certain out of all people he'll be the one receiving a noise complaint. Adjusting his glasses, he finally moved, heartbeat steadied again as he threw his jacket onto the couch.

He made his way into the bathroom, turning on the taps and letting the water run. He sat upon the edge of the tub, feeling for the right temperature before removing his shirt. He vaguely folded it, placing it on the toilet cover before closing his eyes and listening to the rushing water as it slowly filled. The thought of music came to him, realizing he left his phone in his jacket pocket.

He debated moving, wishing to rest a moment longer. The room sat still around him, his stare blank as he looked towards and past the sink ahead. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. The water about halfway before he stood, bring himself back to reality.

He ambled back into the living room, approaching the couch and searching his pockets for the device. A low buzz caught his attention, looking towards his coffee table to find the phone vibrating against the wood. He froze, not remembering taking it out of it's place. Maybe he had just forgotten it is all. Cautiously he reached over to pick it up, breath held as he read the text that lit the screen.

 _5:30  
Quit reading, get some food  
Snooze / X_

He softened his muscles, recalling setting the alarm the night prior. Removing the earphones from the jack he placed them back on the table and returned to the bathroom. Movement in his peripheral made him pause at the doorway, hand placed at the edge as he faced the spot. Everything as it had been left, nothing out of place. He lingered, almost glaring at the area as if to challenge it.

When nothing happened, he resumed walking, taking one last look before shifting his attention to the tub. The water continuing to rush, nearing the edge before he turned the taps off. He leaned against the counter, shuffling through his music for a fitting album, coming across an ambient selection he began playing at three quarter volume.

After removing the remaining articles of clothing, he eased into the warm water, resting back against the tub's walls. The soothing warmth surrounded him, loosening the strain on his body. He let out a prolonged sigh as he let it do it's magic. He slid further down into the water, letting it engulf the rest of his head excluding his face. The water muffled the lulling music, creating a distorted emptiness to the sounds around him. Eye shut as he laid, taking in the peace around him as his breathing slowed.

A presence slithered its way around his stomach, cause his eyes to snap open. Unable to move quickly enough before it tightened its grip and dragged him down. The murky water completely enveloping him into an abyss. He could see the bathtub above him, the only source of light as he floated within the pitch-black darkness.

He flailed his arms, attempting to swim upwards towards safety in vain. His mind clustered by panic as the lack of air grew more evident. The freezing touch of invisible fingers clasped themselves around his neck as he continued to sink. With a great force, he was hauled upwards. The water breaking around him as cold air nipped at his exposed skin, the water droplets dripping off him.

His vision blurred momentarily before settling on an unfortunately familiar face. Ice shaded eyes piercing into his own, hand akin to the dead of winter continuing to hold him above the ground. The water below frozen solid, moulding into a stalagmite protruding towards him. He didn't need to see it to know of it's existence, memories of execution from the past heightened his terror, clawing at the woman's hand desperately.

The action did little to waver her, tears flowing from his eyes as he watched her step closer to the sharp jaded edge. He tried to cry out, strained hushed gurgles the only thing able to be produced. Agony shot through his chest as it connected with the object, feeling it rip through his skin and internal organs.

Water spilled from the tub as he bolted upwards, gasping for air as he patted his chest. Upon finding it intact he gripped his hair, curling into himself as he let out a wail, harshly sucking in air followed by another. The water felt lukewarm around him, no longer inviting. Body shaking as he stayed there, softly fading into light sobs until finally going silent.

He pulled the plug, letting the water drain as he watched the mini whirlpool swirl, his eyes irritatingly dry. He pulled a nearby towel closer, wrapping it around his shoulders before standing up to fully dry off.

He let out a huff, approaching the mirror to find his blurred reflection staring back at him. His skin pale as the bags under his eyes were as clear as day, the look within them akin to the uncountable deaths he'd experienced. His glasses still atop his clothing pile. His glance momentary before gathering his things, exiting the room unable to notice the faint marks around his neck.

* * *

AN: So if you follow me on Tumblr you'll know I was on a semi-hiatus due to school eating all of my time and mental energy. I have now finished my final project and am basically done besides a few minor assignments so what better way to rise from the grave but with another chapter of UTN? I am currently sick and as well as trying to just relax after the mountain of stress so it won't be a complete wave of fanfiction sadly, as much as I would love to do that.

I have, however, plotted out many stories including this one so I know how many chapters there will be (17) and the events within them, it is still subject to change if things shift during the actual writing process but I don't suspect by much. I have an entire list waiting to be written and I'm incredibly happy to be back. I also have a lot of drawing to do both in general and for my ask blog so be on the look out for that.

The beginning with all the research for the entity was inspired and helped by a steam theory post located here: /app/381210/discussions/13/361798516952338973/

Last but not least, there was a special someone featured in this chapter (if you couldn't tell already-). Thanks to Thatonesurvivor on Tumblr for making an awesome OC and letting me use her. I do hope to write more of Frostbite in the future as this was only a little bit and I absolutely love the character. Check out her Tumblr if you wanna see more of them.


	7. Session Four: Failure

"What happened after you awoke that night? Can you describe your surroundings and feelings?"

"Fear, panic…. All those wonderful irritations haunted me bitterly," Dwight bit the words, sighing heavily as he recomposed himself listening to Benedict's usual pencil scratches. "Sorry, um... When I awoke, the woods were more, twisted than they were before, I didn't notice it at first, no… I was more concerned about where my co-workers were, what they would think of… whatever I had done when drunk, all the social implications that would follow when I found them again. Looking back on it… it was stupid, not seeing the signs right in front of my eyes because I gave too much of a damn what other people thought."

"When did you realize something was wrong?"

"When my foot got mauled by a bear trap 'cause I was wandering around like an idiot," he ran his fingers through his unkempt hair, lightly stretching his neck.

"Did anyone come to help?" Benedict leaned back into his chair with a slight twirl of his pencil around his fingers.

"Yeah, Claudette… she was always one to put altruism above everything else. She had heard my scream and came off a generator on the other side of the building to help." He looked towards the floor, remembering all elements of the experience perfectly, from the veil iron scent to the agony shooting up his leg to the clouded vision as the panic attack settled in.

"Mr. Fairfield?"

His voice snapped him from the recollection, not realizing how dissociated he had become. With a deep sigh he straightened his back, rubbing his hands down to his knees before looking Benedict in the eye.

"I'm-" He took a light breath, his voice kept stern. "I'm alright. Next question?"

"Did you want to take a break before contin—"

"No."

The grip on his knees tightened as he saw Benedict's stare darken, his face hardening at the interruption. Suspicious concern crossed his features as the eye contact continued unbroken. For a moment, neither moved, only the clock ticking until Benedict nodded, face softening as contemplation ended.

"If you wish, then we shall continue."

"Thank you." His voice was soft, eyes distant as he looked past Benedict.

"Can you tell me what happened next? Were there any others you encountered at that time?"

With his eyes downcast, he fiddled with his fingers, feeling the skin. The faint reminder of reality as he eyed the veins underneath, the details across each finger as he recalled further memories.

"Jake was there, I… think Meg was the final survivor but she… she died before I even knew what was going on. I only met her in another match. But, I didn't meet Jake until Claudette and I had gotten two generators. She showed me how to do it, where the wires go and places to hide when I screwed up. He didn't come looking for us the first time. We hid and nothing came, but the second time…." He trailed off, his nails digging into his skin as he studied it.

"What did you see?" Benedict asked, watching his actions closely.

"A monster of a man, if he was a man at all for that matter. I couldn't see his face, it was covered by some sort of make shift mask. The rest of him had ironwork sticking out of him, massive never-healing cuts that he didn't seem to notice. He walked past, checking the area briefly before disappearing to somewhere else. Claudette didn't explain anything to me at the time, mostly just to be cautious when I heard a heartbeat, only when he came did I understand why."

"The heartbeat?"

"It's kind of a… warning, I guess. The closer a killer was the clearer their heartbeat." He removed his nail from his skin, observing the mark he left. The skin hadn't been broken.

"Their heartbeat? Not your own?"

"Yeah… it's, hard to explain that part…" he leaned back into the couch, rubbing the side of his neck.

Benedict gave a sound of acknowledgement, writing down notes longer than what seemed needed. He watched the pencil move, wondering what words he was jotting down. His curiosity didn't push past the point of mere wonder, holding no desire to question.

"What happened after the second generator?" he rested his pencil against his palm, looking back up.

"It was a smooth ride up until halfway done with that one actually… that's when Jake came into play. There was a distant scream, it took Claudette's attention instantly. She hastily told me to keep working than ran off towards where it came from… of course ignorant little ol' me was terrified and freaking out, I still managed to finish it, a miracle really. A loud sound rang out afterwards. I, being lost and confused, not knowing what to do next, started to look for more generators." his face scrunched up, cringing at his past mistakes. Benedict watched with mild confusion.

"Was that not the thing to do?"

"No, we had already done enough to open the exit gates." His tone grew bitter.

"Did you find another generator?"

"No, I found Jake instead. The man had been running as well as he could without aid, clutching his shoulder. When we ran into each other he seemed to completely ignore his own pain, no groans or cries besides subtle panting."

A distant scream jolted Dwight up, head snapping towards the source as he almost jumped into a standing position. He paused at the edge of the couch, one hand ready to push off it as his body kept turned towards the direction. Listening he heard no follow up noise, no banging or continued sounds of distress.

"Mr. Fairfield?" His notes were placed down on the desk, hands gripping the chair arms, ready to move if needed.

"I'm—," His focus remained trained on the direction, only crowded bookshelves in view. He gradually rested back into his previous leaning position, body still tense. "It's fine, just… an audible memory, I guess."

Benedict loosened himself as he reclaimed his materials, sitting back into a similarly comfortable position to the one he had prior, legs crossed with pencil ready. "So a scream came next?"

"Not quite, guess I'm getting ahead of myself," a bitter laugh followed, "though not by much, Jake was never one to panic. He was obviously in a hurry though, calling to me in loud whispers to come closer. He asked me to heal him, I tried to tell him I didn't know how and he just shoved his med kit into my hands and guided me through. I messed up a couple times, my hands too shaky."

"Did he get angry with you at all?"

"No, he seemed it, but he was never aggressive to me, or anyone really. He's told me, vaguely, about the outbursts he had in his past. All I've ever managed to piece together is something about his dad." A pause followed as he shifted, brows narrowed in thought.

"How does healing work?"

"I'm… to be completely honest, Mr. Baker, I have no idea." He looked defeated, shaking his head, "We wrap bandages around the wounds, if we're lucky, using whatever make shift thing we have if not, and once we've done that… The Entity, it does something to it. The pain leaves and we're able to function like we never got hit again. I guess realism would make it too easy of a hunt."

"What happened after you helped Jake?"

"The scream came than, I saw the colour drain from his face as he looked towards it whispering Claudette's name. I wanted to help, I couldn't leave her to die after all she did for me, putting herself in danger just to make sure I understood the basics. Of course, I didn't know at the time death wasn't a permeant state, though I came to wish it was. Jake refused at first, trying to tell me to get a door."

"What changed his mind?"

"The fact I had no idea what he was talking about. He rubbed his hand across his face when he realized I was a newcomer, lost in thought, no doubt coming up with a new plan well fully aware precious time was ticking by. Eventually he told me to follow him and listen to his instructions to the point. On the way there, well, you see the Trapper has this thing he likes to do quite frequently, and that is placing a bear trap right underneath someone on a hook."

"To trap unsuspecting rescuers?" He glanced up from his notes, pausing in his writing until Dwight nodded in confirmation. "disgustingly clever," he mumbled under his breath.

"The killers aren't idiots, I'll give them that." He stood, walking towards the window. Benedict's eyes followed him, sitting up straight as he tilted his head back.

"Need a moment?"

"Yeah," He shoved his hands in his pockets, shallowing hard as emotions resurfaced, "can't sit still."

"Want some water?"

"That's be nice, thank you."

He listened to the chair legs scrape against the floor, his footsteps as he traveled across the room and opened the small refrigerator door as he had last session. He turned to face him once he approached, thanking him again as he took the refreshment. The cold water felt heavenly against his throat that had been growing sore. Benedict continued to stand beside him as both turned to look at the view, neither saying a word.

He wasn't sure how long it took him till he felt ready, frankly he was sure he still wasn't but he had mustered enough strength to continue at least. With a light sigh, he ambled back towards the couch. For a moment, the warm orange hue of the room faded, replaced with cold metallic walls covered in an almost black splatter of foul liquid. It was gone as soon as it had come, a tinge of pain in his head upon disappearing.

He shook it off, glancing over his shoulder towards Benedict to see if he had seen. The man was looking towards his notes, sliding back into his chair unaware of the event. Dwight sat down, taking a longer swig from the bottle.

"So, you accompanied Jake on a rescue mission, was the trapper there when you arrived at the hook?"

"Thankfully no," He wiped away the escaped water that was trickling down his chin, placing the near empty water bottle on the desk in front of him. "Jake told me to get ready and follow as soon as she was off the hook, she was struggling at that point. The entity's sharp and horrific… legs, I guess, they looked like…sharp spider legs whatever they were, Claudette called them thorns, I blame her love of flowers…"

He lingered on the thought, idly noting Benedict's curiosity towards his description as he recalled his day of research. Claudette would have loved that area, and Meg probably would have done the rest of the connections a lot faster than he did.

"Something the matter?"

"No, nothing. But, um, he snapped the bear trap, and the entity relaxed it's attempt at murder when he reached up, almost like… it was making way for him to do so. I didn't have time to really think on that, all of us running towards a door, well they were, I was blindly following Jake at least."

"Were you last than?"

"No, because of the injuries Claudette was a lot slower…I tried to keep in the middle of them. I guess I just didn't want to be caught, as selfish as that sounds, and I know it sounds quite selfish, but fear… fear is a terrible thing. But after that whole thing I always took to the end of the line, I couldn't… I needed them to live even if it meant taking a hit. I couldn't bear with that guilt. It was probably just because of how badly my ignorance at the time made me worry but… out of everything…. I can't." He placed his hand just above his eyes, covering the top of his face and blocking light as he shook lightly.

He bit his bottom lip, pushing back emotions. Benedict watched with soft eyes, ready to pass the tissue box over if need be. After a moment he shallowed and seemed to collect himself, taking the water bottle again and finishing it, turning down the offer for another at the moment.

"What happened to Claudette?" he asked with a gentle air.

"The trapper came back… I don't know where he came from, just suddenly came out from behind a wall. Even with the heartbeat you never know which direction they were at. But he beelined right for Claudette, knocking her down to the floor. I froze in fear, wanting to help as he moved to pick her up. She screamed at us to run, Jake pushed past me running after them and ordering me to get the door. It took a moment before I finally moved, seeing the door in the distance when I looked back around."

"And after you opened it?"

"I waited. I waited and prayed I'd see both of them coming around the corner at any second, I had hope for a moment when Jake come into view, only to worry when it was only him, clutching his stomach and dragging me out with him. I tried to ask where she was but he just told me to go and that he'd explain at the campfire."

"Did Claudette come back to the campfire?"

"No…that time it was only Jake and I… he was quiet for the most part and I worried about, well a lot of things. Anything I could overthink about I was, he eventually calmed me down and explained, not nearly as well as Claudette had but it was good enough to grasp." He shrugged, letting out a sigh after he finished, "think I could have more water?"

"Of course, it's why I have so many." He smiled, getting up and retrieving another one as Dwight kept his gaze towards the floor, gathering his thoughts.

When the bottle came into view he gave his thanks, not paying attention to Benedict casually returning to his seat as he downed the bottle. The familiar taste of water turned into a bitter iron, disturbing him and causing him to panic. He threw his head down, coughing violently as water spilled from his mouth and covered him. He looked around in hysteria, deep crimson covering his clothing and hands, vision blurring as his body shook.

"Mr. Fairfield?" His voice was faint, sounding further away as he briefly saw a blur of movement coming closer, darkness following as his senses dulled to the point of non-existence.

Tick, tock

Tick, tock

Tick, tock

* * *

AN: I can't believe how long it's been since I posted a chapter of this, but no worries! It has returned! This fic is basically my baby, I'm always excited to write more and I hope you're also enjoying the ride! Thank you for reading.


	8. Regret Follows

Tick, tock

Tick, tock

Dwight listened to the faint ticking in his memory, bringing the warm mug to his lips and sipping the newly made hot chocolate. The sound of a movie playing on Netflix acted as white noise to his ears, his mind not focused on it or anything else for that matter. You'd think the simplicities of life gone unnoticed would now be heaven to someone deprived of it in a nightmare for god knows how long... With a hum he looked down at his drink, noticing it empty. How long had he been staring off?

The couch groaned as he sat up, blanket that had been draped over his shoulders slid down his back and fell to the ground. He walked to the kitchen, the tiled floor creaking like wooden boards went unheard. Boiling water poured into the cup, a soft feminine voice trailing in from the other room made him pause.

"H-help…"

He gulped, it sounded like Claudette…

He clasped his hands together to soothe the shaking, trying to level his breathing. Closing his eyes, he forced himself to walk, opening them again when he heard the wooden floor. He cursed when he saw the resemblance beneath. The room dimmed around him, only a yellow tinted light coming in from the living room.

He followed it, rounding the corner to where his furniture should have been and instead finding the circle of hanging meat hooks attached to a column. He froze, seeing Claudette impaled by the entity's claws. She hung there, limp, until a cough escaped, blood trailing down her chin from her mouth. She turned to look at him, eyes beginning to tear up, squinting at him with a small shake of her head.

"Why? Why didn't you come to save me?"

"I-" he croaked, "I wan-"

"-ted to?" Claudette finished for him, anger seeping into her words. "Coward."

Dwight shook his head, tears building up, "No, no no, nononono…"

"No! That's not it! I wouldn't have been able to if I tried!" Dwight shouted, throwing his hands out in front of him, stopping behind his back. "Jake knew more and he tried but we just couldn't! I only would have slowed him down…"

"What about now?" Claudette spoke quietly, each word concise.

"N-now?" he whimpered.

"You left us, Dwight!" She suddenly shouted, pulling her body closer and tearing the holes, making them larger as the entity continued to latch on. "You left us…"

Dwight was shaking violently now, tears beginning to cloud his vision from density. He hated hearing her so distraught, so defeated, knowing he left them all to continue dying…

"I didn't want to…"

His tears continued to come, silence surrounding him. No response from Claudette, no crackling from the entity, nothing but his quiet sobbing. He took the bottom of his sweater and rubbed his face clean. Well adjusting his glasses, he looked back to her, or where she was.

Ahead of him was a long wooden corridor, cracks in the walls where the entity could peer through and watch. The end of it was shrouded in darkness, preventing him from seeing the end. After another wipe of his face with his sweater sleeve he cautiously walked forward. The corridor end appeared to be permanently dark, no light reaching it as he continued closer.

Once he was close to the edge he made out a staircase, surrounded by an endless abyss. Its steps led him down, to an unknown location, or…no location. The final step connected to nothing, floating over the endless hole beneath. Never did he stop to ask where he was, how this was even possible, and even now he found himself fully believing everything around. Maybe this was how it was, below him was where he should be.

Where ever that might be.

"Dwight?" Claudette sounded a little concerned, like when he spaced out at camp.

He turned around to her.

The Trapper's mask greeted him.

Hot breath in his face.

A hand on his chest

Pushing.

The stairs grew distant above him as he fell, free falling into darkness.

His apartment floor greets him, well, his back specifically. One second he felt nothing around him, surrounded by thousands of miles of empty. Now he felt his surroundings, his floor, his couch, his walls, the space between him and the furniture, it was all registering and coming back to him. He felt his face, sweat soaked it and the rest of his body along with tears down his cheeks, at least he thinks.

He stands, barely, needing the nearby chair for support. He strips himself of his sweater so only a tank top was covering his chest. He threw the garment onto the couch and heads to the washroom to clean himself off.

The phone on the coffee table lights up.

Claudette | 10:46

Come back

* * *

A/N: It's been forever since I've written. Been quite a year for me but I hope after everything, creation through both writing and art will be more regular or at least, grows as I do.


	9. Session Five: Guilt

"A deep space within your mind…" Benedict mused, standing beside the window.

"In a sense…it's like meditating but instead of listening to your breathing, you're listening to," Dwight paused, thinking back to his research, "a god."

Benedict looked back from the window, hands behind his back. The warm tinted lamps in the room gave him a soft contour against the night's darkness. "And what did this god whisper?"

"Nothing English, or even human I'd imagine" Dwight kept his eyes cast downwards, half-lidded from lack of sleep. His leg bounced with presumably anxiety well his chin rested on his knuckles. Thankfully he hasn't heard anything akin to the whispering well he's been free from it's grasp, occasionally he'd hear humming that would remind him of a distant huntress only to realize it had been something else entirely.

"Do you have any theories as to why it would whisper to you?" Benedict asked leaving his view and returning to his desk. Documents had been spread about, but no new notes had been taken. Instead, his eyes seemed trained on him, a suspicion or worry behind them.

"I'm…not quite certain," He closed his eyes, intertwined hands moved to the bridge of his nose, "I feel it may have been…to unnerve us? I know the others heard it… to constantly keep us on edge but I don't see why it would do that."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, it just… I believe it would need more of a motivation than just unnerving. Meg said she had been…learning it. That by focusing on it she believed she could get something out of it. That thought worried us, but…I don't think she was wrong."

He shook his head, removing his hands from his face and letting them drop between his legs. He looked up at Benedict, his eyes circled with exhaustion. For a moment he saw Meg, with a blink he saw Claudette. Her pink shirt dirtied with mud and grass stains, her shoulder began staining with a deep red liquid he knew too well. Other locations started growing their own pools of blood, slowly spreading.

"I…" Dwight dropped his head again, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He hadn't even noticed the tears laying on his bottom lids.

"Dwight?" Claudette asked, voice soft with concern.

"I'm sorry…"

"Why are you sorry?" It was Benedict's voice again. He looked up to face him, sitting in the same position Claudette and Meg had been, leaning against the desk with his arms across the papers.

"I just…nevermind,"

Dwight could feel his eyes on him, questioning him. The memories of the episode in the back of his mind. The regret pulled at his heart and Benedict's voice did nothing to alleviate it.

"You feel guilty about what's happened, don't you?"

Dwight meekly nodded his head. His mouth lay agape for a moment well he debated explaining his recent issues. Seeing both his fellow comrades, hearing them tell him exactly what he's been wrestling with. He should let it out, get help for it… but what if they weren't just… with a shake of his head he spoke.

"Yeah… It's the same old woe."

Silence.

"Dwight, are you experiencing anything new? How are your episodes?"

Dwight twitched.

"Nothing."

More silence.

He wasn't sure… what he was experiencing. The pit in his stomach that was previously despair, now it felt as though agitation were growing. Why? Benedict was only trying to help, he shouldn't be angry with him of all people. He should be angry at the Entity, furious even, no that was still too soft of a word.

But that wasn't it either.


	10. Memento Mori

Dull, foreboding air settled over the Asylum. The dew-covered grass stained with fresh blood where Jake laid, moaning in distress. Dwight's shaking hands worked to mend the fatal wounds, mind surprisingly calm despite his body's reaction. The other survivor now lay dying at his fingertips and if he just let him bleed out he could get the hatch. Strategically it was the best chance for survival, yet, he didn't.

He'd keep his morals in the face of death, only when there was no chance would he fend for himself. That'd how he worked, they were stronger _together_. Admittedly such belief had led him to many unfortunate circumstances in the past, yet, it was worth it given how many miracles came from it. Not like he could boast about those amazing trials anywhere, but he knew, and so did the others within them. That was what he needed to prove himself, But now?

Now it should have been deemed hopeless, he should have known when he saw Jake's eyes widen in terror. Mouth opening to warn him, but it was too late. The sharp edges of the chainsaw dug into his back, splitting the skin as a loud agony filled scream pierced the heavens. The ground soaked in bodily fluids met Dwight's frontal half, staining his face and clothing further. Such detail was lost as his mind focused on the pain, moaning as he joined Jake's state.

A huff from the gruff man caught what little attention it could from him, neck craning to view the horrific scene about to unfold. The crooked man forced his boot onto his friend's back, murder weapon high as he reeved it like a show for the fallen to wait in dreadful anticipation. The jagged edges spinning in quick succession came down with a twisted sense of grace, cutting through flesh and bones. Jake's dying screams almost unheard above its overwhelming sound. He should have turned away but was unable to do so, eyes glued to the spectacle as his mind went numb.

Then silence, only the Hillybilly's distorted breathing atop the location's ambience. Jake's limp mangled body unmoving, a preview of what was to come. The beast's glowing eyes found him, glaring down with hidden wrath. The being holding no mercy as he stalked towards him, only rage fueled him, and Dwight knew this well. No pleading, no cries for help, only hopeless determination as his fingers clawed into the dirt. Using all the strength he could to drag his body away, feeling the man's presence towering over him causing his back to curl away from the creeping sensation.

Forceful weight halted his actions, foot holding him in place as his body was pushed further into the dirt. The rancid stench assaulting his nostrils worsened, grinding his teeth in frustration. In a surge of anger, Dwight rose his fist, the chainsaw's cry reeving up once again as he went to slam the ground. His face distorted by such intense emotion overwhelming his senses, all of them taking a moment to vanish well realization settled.

His body thrown forward in a manner that should not have been possible, finding himself now sitting up well his fist lacked collision. He blinked as he took in his surroundings. For a moment believing himself to be within his bed, simply sitting up after jolting from a nightmare. No, the darkness was wrong, the touch was wrong. He was not lying on his bed but rather freezing cement, one that almost hurt to touch, a sensation akin to burning through the skin.

He stood hastily, not wishing to keep the lower half of his body against it for long. The area was surrounded by a void, deprived of any sense of light or presence. Only the small, empty space around him held any sort of illumination. No sense of direction could be felt within the stale, oppressive air. Unlike the Arctic floor, the temperature around him was akin to late spring in dire need of an open window.

A shaky sigh escaped, the ability to breath rather difficult in such an environment. His skin crawled as if unknown forces were trying to escape from inside his body. The urge to scratch viciously was suppressed only barely, replaced by light twitches as he attempted to stay in control. Red coated the floor, a vibrant and glowing red that shifted constantly in front of him. He recognized it immediately, panic settling in as the heartbeat suddenly thumped in his ear.

His legs pushed before his mind had any time to recognize the situation, learned instinct guiding his actions. The darkness engulfing him yet his body was still visible, coated in a warm-hued illumination. Directions proved pointless, the void giving no indication of logic to its madness. His body began to grow weak as the air grew thinner, limbs losing feeling as the heartbeat stayed consistent, unwavering in it's relentless and bloodthirsty pursuit.

He might have been able to continue going if the searing pain had not shot through his leg, dragging him to the cement unceremoniously. He didn't need to glance at the source to know what had snared him, the familiar jaws of a bear trap digging itself into his skin and clothing. It's mouth craving his agony, tearing through as far as it could.

He blankly stared at the stained floor beside him, feeling a presence above yet he had no will to move. His lidded eyes simply gazing ahead as his head lay limp, frost biting his cheek that laid against the ground, greeting him with an odd sense of familiarity. His bedroom wall came into focus before realizing he was back within his room.

He blinked, rolling over to stare above. The tattered ceiling in desperate need of repair glared back.

* * *

AN: I swear to god, I will finish this fanfiction even if it takes 5 years. This is my baby and I have it all planned out, I just need to do the actual _writing_ part of the whole ordeal. On the plus side I have a job and getting my life together, I just need to push myself to do things. If you wanna see other things I'm up to than my tumblr filled with my art or my RP blogs are around (katophoenix is the main). I also can sit and talk about headcanons and various other plots I have forever- After this fanfiction is finished I _should_ finish my other on-going projects... but I also want to start this complicated Halloween AU I created... but that still needs a lot of plotting.

Anyways, thank you for reading and I hope ya'll have a nice day!


	11. Session Six: Fermata in Mystic Air

"We'll be taking a break today."

Benedict relaxed back into his chair, legs crossed as his hands laid comfortably within his lap. A sense of serenity covered him, that blanket of warmth and security his presence gave welcomely wrapped around them both. A sluggish nod came in response, baggy eyes watching him behind intertwined fingers. Dwight had his hands pressed against the lower half of his face, using them as support for leaning into for he needed something to keep him physically supported.

A soft yet harsh pearly light made its way into the room; the lamp turned off, unneeded despite high contrasting shadows looming alongside the furniture. Eerie yet peaceful music played distantly, almost unnoticeable and incredibly hard to pinpoint the location of. This accompanied by the smell of faint willowwacks brought about an odd feeling, a sense of illusion and disconnect from his emotions.

"How so?"

Intrigue crossed Dwight's face, tired tone reflecting his curiosity as he spoke. Relief washed over him, shoulders relaxing yet a sense of disappointment mixed itself with. It's presence a mystery, or it would be save for the nagging desire for a shoulder to share his burden.

"I want to know about the present, how your situation has been doing as of late."

The question was simple, yet, he found himself at a loss. The memories of his time back within reality were hazy at best. When was the last search for a job? The last outing to a public place? Snow danced outside, a strange sight for Autumn. Maybe it was Winter now.

He had to squint to observe the window's view. His location on the couch providing only the sky's endlessness filled with dancing flurries.

"I…" he whispered, voice distant. "It's, strange."

"What in particular has been strange?"

His voice laid against his ears, heard but not. The clock began ticking, a dreadful rhythm. It's sound, in turn, grounding Dwight faintly.

"What are we?"

"What do you think we are?"

He finally moved, eyes torn sheepishly from the window to him. His hands shifted, finding themselves underneath his chin. This giving more leeway to lightly rock his head, now more comfortable. A faint frown painted his lips.

"I honestly don't know, we have no purpose here."

"Did you have purpose in the Entity's realm?"

A light hum fled his throat, the feeling atop his chest an unknown one. Its sensation suggested it had ill-intentions, but it held nothing but comfort. Maybe it would stay if they continued to sit, if time froze completely. The snow disappeared from the window.

He watched Benedict's lips move, the man clearly talking. No sound drifted about the room beside the clock's tick and faint melody. Dwight watched in curiosity, mouth slightly agape. His heavy eyes remained half-lidded, a pressure attempting to close them. Momentarily he gave in, allowing them a second's rest.

Upon reopening he saw Kate within Benedict's chair, her hands folded in her lap. Her voice was soft as she greeted him.

"Who…?"

"If you had stayed, you'd know." despite the capacity the words had to be venomous, her voice remained soft.

"I…" he sat up fully, eyes no longer heavy as they held a mixture of guilt and confusion.

"You're sorry, I'm aware." She stood from the chair, throwing her hands behind her back. Her walk was slow, a light bounce to her step as she came closer.

A hyper-awareness settled within him, his spacial awareness in overdrive. The music from before had stopped, along with the ticking of the clock. This void creating an unsettling level of silence around him. The willowwacks scent faded, replaced by something more floral as she reached him, setting herself down beside him.

"I could make it go away," She softly took his glasses, something within his gut felt off

"The pain," her fingers felt the skin around his left eye, a strange apathy settling his intuition.

"The guilt." Her soft voice became harder, emphasizing the point well her fingers slipped into his hair gently.

A frozen moment overtook, time itself a statue. All sensations felt as though he were a mere second from sleep, a peaceful break he had never experienced prior. Her lips moved, but they were not her own, a different yet familiar voice greeted his ears.

"You should head home, they're waiting for you."

* * *

A/N: UTN will now be regularly updated every Saturday! I have almost all of the chapters written at the time of updating, with only 2 and a half left to write up. Admittedly these next few chapters are shorter, under 1000 words each, a little forwarning there. The last 2 chapters will likely be released on the same day but that should be End of October/Early November if this method works out!

Thank you to everyone commenting & continuing to read despite my frequent and long hiatuses 3.  
Bonus points for those of you who can see where I'm getting my chapter naming inspiration from.


	12. Umbra's Rebuke

A dull violet light illuminated the otherwise pitch black apartment. Its source was a mystery, but one that was ignored by the unconcerned man. Dwight sat upon his tattered couch, body sunken into its fabric as he leaned back into it. Glazed eyes continued to stare straight ahead, taking in nothing as shadows surrounded him. The presence of people he would have once called his friends, his family, surrounded him. Disapproval laced their body language, a hostility melting into the air. His own remained numb, limbs unable to move as the stillness continued.

How long had it been?

"Can't even keep track of time…" Meg dragged out each word, lumbering with heavy steps from her former position to block his line of sight.

He didn't respond, if one didn't know any better they'd assume him to be a corpse.

"I admired you, I did. I-" She choked, a lump forming in her throat. "Why do they always leave? First him, now you."

Thoughts danced; memories of the woman, full of energy, cheerfully launching herself onto his back. Memories of them sitting together at the familiar campfire log, no other souls nearby as they exchanged stories of their pasts. The fleeting sense of ease and fellowship that followed. A flame engulfed them, the memories fading from existence to be replaced by a harsh rebuke. The blurry vision of a woman fleeing as he laid losing his life.

She cleared her throat, a shaky sigh escaping.

"You hurt me, Dwight, you said you'd be here for me…"

Her presence left, a void taking the spot she had once held.

The backend of the couch behind him sank lightly, Claudette leaning her lower back against it. Her head tilted upwards in thought. The soft scent of her various herbs clouded the air around them, something that had once held such comfort for the man. The countless times she had bandaged him, soothing him with her loving motherly demeanour.

"You know," She began, the gentleness gone. "I often regret helping you."

Her eyes cast downwards, crossing her legs together.

"Saving you only to find myself taking your place, death awaiting me."

The void took her place, another presence disappearing from his cage.

Movement shifted the armrest beside him as Jake continued to sit hunched over. His back the only viewable angle of his body. A silent, seething anger tainted the atmosphere between them. A deafening contrast to his normal, calming presence. The one that could draw birds into his surroundings, inviting them to sit casually on his finger or shoulder, completely content and unafraid. Accompanied by his rare smile that could bring anyone to a place of tranquillity.

Without a word the man of nature stood, stalking towards the front door. The walls shook from the force at which he shut it behind him.

He was gone.

Thick smoke drifted into view, his lungs tightening from the nicotine smothering him. Nea stood at the corner of his eye, her own shut as she leaned against his window sill. She remained quiet, much more relaxed than the others had been. An oddity given their rough history together, their distrust and animosity before Meg had dragged the rebellious woman into the group. Maybe such was precisely why, he had simply proven her right.

"Good job, buddy." She spoke condescendingly, a strange sense of peace surrounding them.

She didn't leave, not for some time. The smoke gradually filled the room, her body fading as her cigarette burned away.

"See you soon."

Her presence was replaced by another, one of familiarity yet uncertainty towards its identity. The being was slow to form, rising into existence at its own leisure well it approached. It ambled forward till it was barely touching him, The presence lingering at his back, sending numerous chills along his spine. Unformed arms wrapped around his exposed neck, feeling along his fragile skin well claws dug into him, puncturing the skin faintly. Light trails of blood ran down, staining the white collar of his shirt.

"yo͞o,yə wil,wəl bē mīn' ˈbrōkən wən"

* * *

A/N: Sorry about any notification issues, this file did not want to upload correctly for some reason-


	13. Taste of Iron

Jake's cries of agony filled the air, his whimpering mixed with the inhuman whispering of the Entity. Deep crimson stained his clothing, a mixture of past trials and his current dire predicament. His reddened eyes were a painful mix of despair and wrath as he glared down at him. Dwight's dull, distant eyes watched the scene with apathy, standing mere inches away.

A distinct lack of environment surrounded them as if they were the centrepiece of a theatrical tragedy, surrounded by nothing to distract as the spotlight shined down. If he had any concept of time he'd suggest hours had passed of the same scene, watching Jake limp on the rusted hook, the unnatural limbs poking and jabbing at the man's immortal body. it seemed as though the Entity desired a more slow and painful death over the usual method.

A twisted shape emerged from the darkness surrounding them, it's hazy form solidifying into an arm as it grasped Dwight's shoulder. It's transparency continually shifting but it's grip held tight, marks on his skin growing the longer it lingered. His body held no reaction, registering the pain but unable to move in response.

"Look," a familiar voice whispered into his ear, smooth as silk with underlying venom. "...at what you have done."

A distant melody rang in the distance, moans were it's chorus as it grew in volume. Impulse led his movements, instincts pulling him to move. Glancing down to find his dirt-stained palms dripping in blood. A dampness stained his cheeks, tears slowly pouring from his eyes. Anguish overcame him at that moment, it's force akin to a breathless punch. His body doubled over, arms wrapped around the offending location.

"It was them…" He panted, brows furrowing.

The sickening sound of punctured flesh and bone broke the melody, silence falling to Jake's shocked panting. The stench of death engulfed them, realization dawning upon him. Slow and precise as he lifted his head, meeting the view of his dying companion. The Entity's sharpened limp impaling the man's stomach. No remorse could be found within his eyes as his hand gently rose, cupping Jake's paling face.

"Goodbye."

Without a start his eyes opened, the walls of his bedroom welcoming his view. Seconds ticked by before stirring, shakingly moving the blankets from himself. Sitting against the edge of the bed he glanced down at his empty hands, clean but never still. He forced himself forward, standing to his feet to begin his day. Difficult without his fine motor skills but possible he found as he completed his daily tasks.

The morning sun invaded the formally darkened space, wrapping around his standing form. His warm, chocolate coloured mug trembled in his hand. His grip tightened, the delicious aroma repugnant to his stomach. A taste that should have been refreshing was nothing but stomach-churning. A fury crept along his body, the sensation of his skin in revolt against his very skeleton.

With contorted features he threw the cup against the nearest wall, teeth clenched tightly as his body stood in aggression. The fragile object shattered upon contact, it contents splattering amongst anything within its vicinity. He watched darkly as the droplets ran down the walls, feeling a presence approaching from behind.

"kʌm tə mi, əˈprɛntɪs"


	14. Session Seven: Descent

Night had fallen, the once dreadful time had returned to one of forlorn peace. Dwight stood at the window, looking past his warmly lit reflection to idly study the city lights below. Few words had been spoken since he entered the room, leaving only the clock's ticking in rhythm with Benedict's writing. Faint vapours of shadow danced from his papers, a sight which held no cause for alarm.

"I saw her," He stated simply, no hesitance to his voice.

"Her?" Despite the question, the man's tone suggested he was well aware.

"I don't know her name," he sighed, taking in one last moment of scenery before returning to his usual seat, eyes downcast in thought.

"Was she real?"

"Yes, and no." He leaned forward, demeanour one of someone cheekily holding a secret. "Kind of like you."

He shifted his sight to the soulless chair, watching the empty space waltz with nearly invisible vapours. He strained his eyes to see them, squinting slightly before deeming the action unnecessary. The remnants were of no importance, what truly held his thoughts were simply laid across the desk. Various documents collected over time, sensitive information that resembled the mumblings of a madman.

With a simple lean forward he pushed the notes into a disorganized pile, pulling them into his lap. Following a quick straightening of the papers, he shuffled through them. Some held recorded notes of his sessions, details of his past that he foolishly thought he could let go. Nothing ever stays buried.

One paper caught his attention, lingering in the middle of his collection. He pulled it to the front, scanning the names written. They were familiar in the beginning; Meg, Jake, Claudette, Nea… Some were names he had heard in passing, the survivors he hadn't quite interacted with; Feng Min, David, Laurie, Kate… they were all varying degrees of recognizable to the man's memories. Several other names dawned the paper alongside them, many he had never heard.

" _kʌm"_

A commanding whisper caught his attention, it's source seemingly the opened door. A winter's breeze slide through the entrance, a severe contrast to the usual warmth of the office. it's homely orange light subduing into a de-saturated version of itself. Despite the lack of knowledge for the unfamiliar tongue, he rose with full understanding, either from instinct or something else. With spiteful care he returned the papers to the wooden desk, glaring down upon the names of his former comrades.

The wind encouraged the goosebumps along his skin, a light shiver gracing his body as he entered the corridor. The dull, sickening yellow of the lights illuminated his path, the same middle light flickered as it had prior. a strange, disturbing rhythmic beating sounded above him. The unseen creature's banging and scratching unable to insight any terror, his stoic expression unchanging.

" _ðɪs weɪ"_

The whisper beckoned him, shifting it's source further down the decaying hallway. His steps were calm as he walked, paying no mind to the deteriorating walls around him. The scent of death rose from the floorboards, moans accompanying each crack underneath his feet. Wallpaper cracked and torn, wood paling and splintering. A ding resounded through the air, elevator doors opening to a welcomingly empty space.

His movements never ceased, entering as if he had been expecting it to arrive at that moment. He stilled himself as he sighed, removing his glasses to rub against the edge of his shirt casually. No directional panel existed, Instead the lift rocked, moving steadily downwards without instruction. The medically bright light stayed consistently present, unhindered by the movement. It's presence useful as he checked the condition of his lens. A low hum left his lips as he inspected the various blood stains, dirt covering half of them. The elevator's floor indicator could be seen in his peripheral, idly watching the steadily changing led numbers.

4,

3,

2,

1,

1111111,

0,

He returned the spectacles to their original place, observing the walls collapsing around him. Watching them age in a moment, peeling away as if they had been left to rot over several decades. The rusted materials underneath showed their face, holes widening to reveal the Entity's glow. It's unseen eyes trained on his movements, or lack there off. His disinterested gaze stared back until another rumble shook the container. The same ding ringing out once more.


	15. Asomatous

The barely functional doors creaked open, straining from the effort needed to accomplish the task. The sound echoed out into the void surrounding them, darkness enveloping any sort of horizon that existed. Despite the lack of distinguishing features or any sort of objects within his small lit circle, he knew precisely where he stood. Glancing downwards only confirmed his suspicions.

The bloodied jaws of the bear trap nights prior greeted his vision, his eyes watching the crimson droplets sliding down the dangerous metal contraption. It's pieces now scattered about, having been broken into several by something unknown. It's state similar to Jake's sabotaging in the past, maybe the man had been here before he perished?

Another ding dragged him from his thoughts, turning past his shoulder to find the elevator nowhere in sight. He lingered a moment, glancing around the area in protest to what he already knew. In its place, a distant wailing rose, numerous voices from tormented souls that only grew in volume. Maybe his friend's were among them but it was impossible to distinguish a single voice from the group.

He removed his eyes from the imageless scene, searching the void until the view of his apartment caught his attention. Silhouetted buildings partially blocked the view, a dull-hued red wrapped the previously non-existent sky overhead. Clouds were littered with the Entity's touch, drifting along to reveal the moon's presence. Fog drifted through the streets before him, nuzzling against his legs like a cat.

Goosebumps littered his skin from the cold, noticing his attire had shifted to his familiar old outfit. He paid it little mind, focused on trekking forward towards his destination. The closer he became the more the surrounding scent of death faded, replace by a predominant Sandalwood. A serene haze crept into his mind, environment becoming hazy around him.

"I ʃal,ʃ(ə)l ˈkʌmfət"

The inhuman language was whispered within his skull, it's tongue unfamiliar and yet he could understand it perfectly. Once finished the haze cleared, blinking several times before his surroundings registered. The lobby of his apartment, untouched and based in normality. The low budget lights illuminating the location. One look outside confirmed it was indeed still night.

"Are you coming?"

The voices presence had been absent before, turning to see the other soul nearby. She appeared normal enough, clad in black as she held the door for him. A veil just thick enough to obscure the features of her face lay around the brim of her hat. He nodded towards her, walking towards the stairs only to have his arm grabbed. Her grip was firm yet soft, with a hesitance to it. He glanced between her gloved hand and her masked eyes.

"Not that way."

Without struggle he followed her, hands lose within his pockets well she crossed the room towards the common area. Upon entering he noticed the dull rouge had returned, harsh shadows looming in the corners and alongside furniture. Various figures draped in the darkness sat throughout the room at various tables, couches, and counters. Some were familiar faces, men and woman who had hunted, maimed, and sacrificed him an uncountable number of times. Now they stood in silence, paying the man no mind.

The woman sat within a small window-side corner of the room, choosing one of the two beaten loveseats across from one another. He took the opposite, watching as she took in the outside view. A deafening silence continued, one that seemed impossible to the ears. As if time was frozen permanently or maybe it never existed here at all. What a lovely thought.

"Tell me," She turned from the window, movements graceful. "where are you?"

"Home."

An unnaturally wide smile crept along her unseen face, it's white teeth the only visible feature.

"Is that so?"

Dwight's apathetic expression remained unmoving, the stare of all the surrounding murders upon him.

"You doubt me?"

A soft chuckle came the response, her lips unmoving.

"I suspected you'd long for the campfire."

His brows furrowed lightly, eyes narrowing.

"You suspected wrong."

Her smile tinned, a sense of a more serious cheer lacing her words.

"Ooh, you'll be a fun one."

He relaxed, melting back into the cushions.

"I could say the same."

Another chuckle came, followed by silence as she returned her eyes towards the view. The stares followed suit, diverting back towards their previous activities. He glanced towards them momentarily, studying those he was unfamiliar with. A black smoke slithered into his peripheral, dragged his eyes towards the shut door nearby.

"jɔː,jə,jʊə ˈrɛdi"

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay! Some personal issues had come about but we're back in business now!


	16. Crepitating Halls

"jɔː,jə,jʊə ˈrɛdi"

The whisper beckoned him towards the door, crackling following as the black shadow worsened around it. He rose slowly from his seat, following its call.

"Have fun," The woman sang, not bothering to turn towards him.

He glanced down at her for a moment before shifting his attention back towards his goal. His fingers wrapped around the cold iron bar, lingering in place with hesitance. A twinge of pain rose from the back of his heart, a shroud of sadness laying upon his shoulders.

"dəʊnt fəˈɡɛt"

He stiffened, the momentary grief burning away into anger.

"dəʊnt fəˈɡɛt wɒt ðeɪ dɪd"

His grip tightened, throwing the door open and storming through it. With a slam it closed behind him, fists clenched tightly enough to leave bruises. Harsh breaths were taken through clenched teeth as he attempted to calm himself. Unaware to him, the woman's smile grew.

The claustrophobic hallway around him crackled louder, unable to pinpoint the location of the Entity's whispers. Glowing yellow light lit his features, the cracks in the walls holding unseeable eyes. The appearance identical to the basements he had been hung in numerous times. There was no doubt within him the very being who caused this torment lingered just on the other side of those walls.

He rose his hand, gently brushing against the uneven wood. With a hmph he left, ambling along towards the darkness. It was impossible to tell how long the corridor would last, or if he had an end at all. He didn't mind the notion.

"Traitor!" Meg's voice shouted.

He continued walking unphased.

"Useless…" Jake.

The familiar ticking rose, almost too faint to hear.

"Coward." The Botanist.

A door emerged from the darkness, one he knew well.

"Hypocrite." A survivor.

He grasped the knob, turning it to find a warmth greeting him.

"Welcome back."

* * *

A/N: My apologies once again for the delay, my life is still kinda hectic- but here we are at last! The last chapter will be posted later day


	17. Session Eight: Repose

Vibrant sunlight shined through the half-shut blinds, illuminating the warm living room like office Dwight found himself inside. Dust particles could be seen in the rays of light, floating wherever it wished. The air felt stiff, in need of an open window. The room was painted various shades of orange, clearly dusk. The antique clock in the corner of the room stood as the only source of noise. Dwight found himself calmly listening to its tick, eyes shut in tranquillity as he relaxed within the seat. Tick, tock.

Tick, tock.

Tick, tock.

"How was your walk?" Benedict's inviting voice broke the silence, encouraging him to open his eyes.

"Enjoyable, could do without the voices." He chuckled.

"Think of it as… encouragement."

"That's one word for it." A devious smirk dawned Dwight's features.

With a sigh he rose from his slackened position, leaning forward with his chin atop his hands. A mischievous look danced within his eyes as the smirk stayed planted across his face. The warmth that had filled the room was challenged as a chilled gust of wind made its way within. The sky sped past the window, darkness quickly engulfing the orange painted hues. It's clouds forcefully pushed by with an unnatural pace.

Dwight stared straight ahead, studying the calm man across from him. His eyes followed the dark trails of vapour dancing from his body. His clothing decorated with the Entity's touch, the dull glow it gave off mixing itself with the artificial light from his lamps. The man's own attention focused on the book before him, pen scribbling meaningless notes. Dwight's grin widened.

"Hey, Benedict…"

"Hm?"

"What exactly _have_ you been writing?"

His pen abruptly stopped, a silence falling between them, the clock's ticking filled the space. His expression shifted into one of amusement as if he had been waiting for Dwight's curiosity to push.

"Why don't you take a look for yourself?" He turned the book upside down, handing the object over to him.

He carefully took it, noticing very quickly how worn the spine holding it together was. The book was obviously well used, appearing to be a diary or journal of sorts. He had heard talk, rumours around the campfire of a journal with instructions. It's existence well delved into myth at that point, but here it lay now, back with its original owner.

 _September 12th  
I began my search in the summer of 1956 after hearing of the town of Weeks, a place that had an unusual number of missing persons reports…_

 _…_

 _…_

The pages shifted from Benedict's beginning search to the horrors of the Entity's realm, into the mechanics and information need to survive confidently. From the survivor's point of view to an encounter with a man named "Vigo". Following said encounter came strange symbols, pages of nonsense before it's usual intelligence resumed. The contents akin to the survivor's point of view, but instead exploring everything a Killer would need to sacrifice all that came within their path.

"Nice read," he complimented with a hint of snark, admiration shining in his eyes. He closed the book, reaching it out to be returned. "Have you shown this to the others?"

"A few," He laid the book carefully into his lap before resting his arms on the chair's rests. "The other's interests are all varying of course."

"The only thing that binds them is the thrill of the hunt, yes?"

"Indeed, different motives, same outcome." He tilted his head slightly, studying him. "How do you think you'll fair?"

Dwight couldn't help but laugh, a determination lacing his body language. A presence wrapped around him, the one he had come to know very well. The one filled with warmth and fear.

"I think they'll be more than willing for death when I'm through…"

The Entity's limbs surrounded him, stray claws wrapping around him in a pleased manner as its touch spread across his skin. Benedict reopened his previous page, an untitled entry coming to it's close.

 _The Fallen Leader_

 _…_

 _..._

* * *

A/N: I'm not late again, what are you talking about? But in seriousness, I'm thankful to those who followed this journey and all new readers along the way! I think this is the first time I've completed a long-running fanfiction! 3 In the future I wish to make this a webcomic but right now I may focus on some other projects before doing so. If you wish to see them, I'll likely be updating my Tumblr & Twitter with such along with my personal website. (Tumblr has less clutter than my twitter, fair warning).

Thank you again, and have a nice day/night!


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